


And we're coming to the chorus now

by 7iris



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-16
Updated: 2008-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Bob joined The Used instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And we're coming to the chorus now

On his second day of touring with the Used, Bob wakes up on the floor of someone's bus with a raging hangover and Bert McCracken sitting on his crotch.

"Rise and shine, princess," Bert says, which is technically not the first thing he ever says to Bob, but since most of last night is a blur of Everclear and pot, it's the first thing he says that Bob remembers.

Bert's smoking a cigarette and appears entirely unconcerned about the fact that he's sitting on Bob's morning wood. Then again, their tour manager warned Bob about this band, so Bob just reaches up and snags Bert's cigarette.

Bert blinks down at him while he takes a long drag.

"Fuck," Bob says, hoarse and ragged on the exhale, then puts the cigarette back in his mouth so he can use both hands to lift Bert up off his hips. "I'm gonna puke now. See you at soundcheck."

The last thing he hears on his way off the bus is Quinn's wheezy, arthritic laughter.

 **::**

On his third day of touring with the Used, Bob wakes up on the couch of someone's bus with slightly less painful hangover and Jepha Howard sitting on his crotch.

"So, hey, I want to blow you." It's not the first thing Jepha ever says to him, but it definitely stands out.

Bob squints up at him. "It's way too early for this shit, and you don't look like someone who's dumb enough to fuck the help." It may or may not be true, but it's the most diplomatic way he can think of to say _I'm not dumb enough to fuck the talent._

Jepha gives him a considering look. "Maybe I am. Or maybe this is my way of saying you won't be coming back out with us. Which answer ends in oral sex?"

"The one in the parallel universe."

Jepha grins, sudden and bright and real, and bounces to his feet. "You're breaking my heart here, Bob. See you at soundcheck."

Later, Bob jerks off thinking about it, a couple of times, before he's really friends with Jepha, because he's not _blind_ , goddamn, but he knows his place, knows better than to get involved in something like that.

 **::**

He misses it; of course he fucking misses it, standing on the sidelines and making other drummers ( _real drummers_ ) sound good.

Watching the Used play is hard enough, but watching My Chem play is a whole new level of irritation. Pelissier is decent when he's on his game, but when he's off...

"You just want to rip the sticks away from him and do it right," Bob mutters.

Next to him, Branden snorts and looks away fast, but after a minute he glances back at Bob and says, "You play?"

Bob opens his mouth to say yes automatically, but stops himself. He shrugs instead and says, "I used to, before I started doing sound."

"Huh," Branden says, and looks back at the stage.

Bob probably said something to Quinn or Jepha at some point, but Branden is the only one he remembers telling.

 **::**

Jepha calls him while he's doing sound for My Chem in the UK.

"I didn't think My Chem could afford you," Jepha says.

"Yeah, well," Bob says, and Jepha must be able to hear him squirm even over the phone, because he busts out laughing.

"Fuck, you must really have a hard-on for those guys."

Bob can feel the tops of his ears turning red. "Obviously, you motherfuckers need to stop dicking around and go back on tour."

Jepha's laughter dies off and he's quiet for a minute. Bob waits him out.

"Branden and Quinn are fighting," he says finally.

"Shit," Bob says, and glances back at the club without meaning to. "Lot of that going around."

"Yeah?" Jepha says. He sounds tired.

"I almost threw Pelissier out a window. I think Ray would have helped me hide the body."

Jepha snorts. "But we get first dibs, right?"

"On hiding the body?"

"No, nothing, I gotta go, okay?"

 **::**

"What'd ya get? What'd ya get?" Frank asks, grabbing for the duty-free bag.

Bob holds the box of tea over his head. "It's a gift."

 **::**

"No," Bob says, rubbing at his tension headache and feeling a sudden rush of sympathy for Brian. "No, you can't set that on fire."

The guitarist opens his mouth to argue—and seriously, he's not even in the band Bob's tour-managing—and Bob is happy to take Bert's call.

He backs up, but doesn't take his eyes off the little cluster of musicians around the amp.

"So," Bert says. "So, you're coming with us on Projekt Rev, right?"

"Yeah," Bob says absently, trying to remember if there's a fire-extinguisher on the bus.

"So," Bert says again, then Quinn says, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and Bob realizes he's on speaker-phone.

"Look," Quinn says, all sharp and pissy like he is when he's nervous. "We need a new drummer. Are you in?"

For a second, the words don't make any sense. Then they do, and Bob kind of wants to sit down. "Fuck."

"C'mon," Jepha says, "you gotta say yes, otherwise Bert's going to try to woo you, and no one wants that."

"Yes," Bob says, and then laughs. "Fuck yes."

He doesn't even care when the amp goes up in flames.

 **::**

"Shit, I was better in high school." Bob puts the sticks down, rolls his shoulders.

"You're good enough," Jepha says. "You'll get better."

Bob can feel it, the way there's something broken or missing, the way his edges don't exactly fit with the rest of the band yet. He really believes in that _yet_.

Ever since Bob got here, Bert's been a clingy little monkey, Quinn's walking around like a huge weight was just lifted off his shoulders, and Jepha—Jepha's been quiet.

But now he's sitting up at some ridiculous hour of the night, fooling around on his bass and watching Bob practice.

Bob picks up his sticks again.

 **::**

Touring kicks his ass. The first couple of shows are okay, and it's not until they get to Jersey that everything clicks. But when it does click, they're on fucking fire. Everyone comes off stage laughing and giddy. Bob makes it back to the bus on adrenaline alone, then face-plants on the couch in the front lounge as soon as they walk in the door.

"Ho shit, we broke Bob!" Bert says, and scrambles up to sit on Bob's back. Bob grunts into the couch cushion.

The next thing he knows, Jepha's sitting on his ass and Quinn's on his legs. He makes a weak, flaily gesture in their general direction, but he's too tired to even try and shake them off. At least they're skinny motherfuckers.

Bert scrubs a hand through Bob's sweaty hair, then leans forward and presses a wet, smacking kiss to the back of his head. "Don't die, okay?" he says.

"Mmmph," Bob says.

Bert rolls off and bounces on his feet. He's talking about an after-party on No Warning's bus, and Bob doesn't listen, just drifts. Quinn leaves with Bert, and Jepha rolls over onto his belly, draped over Bob like a blanket. He hooks his chin over Bob's shoulder and presses their cheeks together. He doesn't say anything, but Bob can feel Jepha's smile, and Bob knows he's smiling back just as hard.

 **::**

Brian calls him near the end of the Projekt Revolution tour.

"I don't suppose you're looking for a band," Brian says.

Bob looks across the parking lot at where Jepha, Bert, and Quinn are dropping cherry bombs in gallons of milk. "I've got a band," he says. He ducks his head like he can hide his smile, but he's pretty sure Brian hears it anyway.

"Yeah, I figured," Brian says, and he sounds resigned.

"So they dumped Matt?"

"Gee's sober now, too. I was kind of hoping you guys would know someone; they need a friend. Or at least not a stranger."

Bob thinks about it for the rest of the day, trying to chase down a half-remembered name. He can't make the connection until he sees Quinn slap out a quick drum-roll on the table in the dressing room.

"Quinn, what's the name of your friend, who drums with, uh, fuck, Transit Authority?"

"New Transit _Direction,_ " Quinn says, and frowns. "Dan. Why?"

"Is he looking for another band?"

 **::**

Dan is looking for another band. Or at least, is willing to be convinced by Quinn's argument of "Well, what's the worst that happens? They fall apart after a couple of months of touring in a van and you're right back where you started from."

They don't fall apart.

 **::**

"Just so you know," Brian says, while they stand around and watch My Chem's soundcheck, "I am holding a grudge over the Dan thing."

"Don't front, I know you think he's awesome."

"Bob. He _encourages_ Frank."

Bob snorts.

"Oh, sure, laugh it up, just don't come crying to me when all your underwear ends up encased in a block of Jello in the bus sink."

Bob doesn't. He just makes sure the Jello ends up in the right bunks and swings by a Target. He needed more underwear anyway.

That Taste of Chaos tour will probably always be one of Bob's favorites. It's like they're one big nine-person band instead of two smaller ones.

The show in Fresno is one of the last. It rains afterwards, and everyone piles into the front lounge of the sober bus. Gerard and Bert are curled up together in one corner of the couch and Mikey's sprawled out over the rest of it, texting, his feet shoved under Bob's thigh. Quinn and Frank and Ray and Dan are sitting on the floor playing video games. Jepha's on the floor, too, his back against Bob's legs, reading a book. It's not exactly quiet, but there's something about the rain on the windows that makes it seem...

Jepha tilts his head back against Bob's knees and mouths, _What?_

Bob shakes his head and waves his hand around to vaguely indicate, _Nothing, everything, this._

Jepha grins and nods like he understands.

Bob isn't dumb; he kind of knows they're not going to have a tour like this again. He's just really glad they got to have it at all.

"Suck on that, bitches!" Quinn says, and throws down the controller, just in time to be tackled by Dan and Frank. They're all laughing, louder than the game, louder than the rain outside.

 **::**

After Taste of Chaos, Jepha says, "Bob, we need to get you a tattoo or a piercing or something. You don't look hardcore enough."

Bob looks over at Quinn, who has fallen asleep in his old man's glasses and short-shorts, and Bert, who is doing a crossword puzzle in his "Buttsex is Itchy" t-shirt and My Little Pony barrettes. Then he laughs so hard he hurts something.

"Okay, fine, it would be hot," Jepha says.

Bert's watching them. "It would be totally hot. And, like, symbolic and shit."

"I'm not getting the band's name tattooed on my ass," Bob says, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jepha flinch.

Then Jepha shakes it off. "That's because you're uncommitted. Don't worry, we'll get you a nice piercing you can take out when you decide to leave us for a younger band."

It is a nice piercing. And Bert was right, it feels kind of symbolic, too. The face looking back at him isn't the face of Bob Bryar, tech and tour-manager, it's Bob Bryar, drummer for the Used.

"Sweet," Quinn says. "The next thing you know, you'll be talking in interviews."

Bob flips him off and makes a mental note to be even quieter next time.

"See, I told you it would look hot," Jepha says. He's grinning at Bob and when he brushes his fingertips over the corner of Bob's mouth, the pit of Bob's stomach goes warm and liquid, and he thinks, _Oh, fuck_. Because, really, he'd thought he was over this.

 **::**

Bob's not on Warped when it happens, but one of Street Drum Corps's techs calls Jepha.

The footage is actually up on YouTube before Brian calls. Bob wonders who he called first.

"What the ever-loving fuck?" Brian says, low and furious.

"What, you never had a bad break-up?" Bob cracks his neck unconsciously, trying to shake off this tight, anxious feeling.

He can hear Brian take several deep breaths. "Look. Just tell Bert to—"

"Brian. Shut the fuck up." This is what he's been dreading ever since Jepha told him Bert was talking shit about MCR in front of a large audience. "You can't—I've already picked my side, okay?"

Three more breaths, and then Brian says, oddly flat and calm, "Okay," and hangs up the phone.

"Fuck," Bob says.

"Yeah." Jepha's leaning in the doorway. He looks tired and unhappy.

"I guess some people didn't see this coming a mile away."

Jepha's mouth quirks, but it's not exactly a smile. "Humanity is always full of surprises."

Bert is quiet when he comes back, quiet and pulled in on himself, so he looks even tinier than usual. Quinn's taking up enough space for both of them, with his restless, jerky pacing.

When Bob sits down on the couch, Bert curls into his shoulder.

"Brian said I was being an asshole."

"Fuck Brian," Bob says, and surprises himself by meaning it for a second. Bert looks equally surprised, and Bob sighs. "I'm sure he said the same thing to Gerard."

Quinn opens his mouth, but gets cut off by his cell phone. He scowls when he looks at the display and stomps out, slamming the door behind him. After a couple of seconds, Bob can hear his voice, just low angry noise, the occasional sharp _motherfucker_.

Jepha sits down on Bert's other side, sliding his arm across the back of the sofa. His hand is warm and steady against Bob's shoulder.

There's a crack and a clatter from the other side of the door.

"Please tell me he's not talking to Dan," Bob says, and Bert winces.

Quinn comes back in, tight-lipped, and throws himself down to the floor in front of them, leaning in to rest his head on Bert's knee.

Bob nudges him gently with his foot. "Hey, asshole," he says softly, gently. "It's his _band._ "

Quinn wraps his hand around Bob's ankle and doesn't say anything.

 **::**

Quinn can hold a grudge for a long time. It's really kind of impressive.

 **::**

 _Life on the Murder Scene_ comes out while they're taking a break before the next album. Bob buys it and watches it by himself. He makes screencaps of a couple of the more embarrassing scenes, scribbles in some commentary and mustaches in Photoshop, thinks about sending them to Brian and Frank.

He's pretty sure they'd know he's trying to be funny, not mean, but. But not completely sure. He sends an e-mail to Brian's work address that says, _Congratulations._

 **::**

Bert looks a little defensive when he hands over the lyrics to "Pretty Handsome Awkward."

"Subtle," Jepha says, but he's smiling.

Bert looks at Bob.

"Hey, if you can't write bitter, vindictive songs about your exes, what _can_ you write songs about?" Bob says, and has Quinn play him the guitar part.

Bob spends a lot of time with Jepha in the studio. It's his first album, and it's the first time Feldmann's let Jepha have complete control over the bass line. They're both maybe freaking out just a little.

"I'm not freaking out," Bob says.

"Right, you're just obsessively polishing the drum parts because of your anal-retentive perfectionist nature."

"Yes." But he puts the sticks down. He flexes his hands and hisses in a breath.

Jepha frowns and puts down his bass. "Your wrists?" he asks, walking over.

"It's not that bad. The time off helped."

Jepha sits in Bob's lap and pushes back his sleeves. He digs a thumb into the palm of Bob's hand, and Bob makes a tiny noise.

It's after midnight. Bert will probably come by in a couple of hours, hyped up and ready to sing, dragging Quinn and Feldmann along, but for now it's just them. It's a lot more noticeable without the drums and the bass, with Jepha's hands on his wrists, doing amazing, amazing things.

So really, it's the endorphins, or the late hour that makes him do it, makes him cup Jepha's face between his palms and kiss him. Jepha's mouth slides against his for just a second, then Jepha pulls back.

Bob doesn't actually need to be reminded of why this is a bad idea. They're recording an album full of failed relationships and bitter exes. Jepha's already lost one band-member over the recording process.

"We're not them," he says quietly. He doesn't say, _You wanted this once, too,_ doesn't say, _We're smart, we're professionals, we can do this, we can have this._ Doesn't say, _I've maybe been a little in love with you for a long time._

Jepha doesn't say anything at all, just watches him with wide, wary eyes.

"I'm gonna get some coffee," Bob says. They'll stay up all night, maybe lay down something usable, and when they wake up again this night will feel dreamy, unreal.

Jepha hesitates, then stands up and moves back.

Bob taps out the drum line for "Pretty Handsome Awkward" while he waits for the coffee to drip.

 **::**

Dan catches on fire on a video shoot while the Used are recording.

Brian calls Bob with the news, because he is a pussy who is too afraid of Quinn to call him.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Brian says, and hangs up.

Quinn bitches and moans about Gerard, but in the end, they go to the hospital.

Frank's the only one there with Dan (because Bob called Brian back before they left), so it's not as awkward as it could be.

"Hey," Frank says.

"Hey," Bob says.

"Heeeeeeey!" Dan says.

"You stupid fuck," Quinn says. "How long do you have to stay?"

"Until the doctor says he can go home," Frank says. "They're worried about infection."

Bob's getting twitchy after ten minutes.

Dan gives them a thumbs up and a loopy grin. "It's okay. I'm getting the good drugs."

Quinn rolls his eyes, but reaches out very carefully to touch Dan's shoulder.

When they finally get out of the hospital, Bob and Bert stop right outside the doors to light cigarettes.

Quinn's quiet all the way back to the house, but a couple days later, he agrees to watch _Life on the Murder Scene_. They fast-forward through the parts with Gerard and focus on the parts where Dan is ridiculous on camera. Fortunately, there are a lot of those.

 **::**

Jepha takes some time off before the record drops and goes to Japan by himself.

Bob goes back to Chicago and spends a lot of time with his practice pads.

 **::**

The El goes by while Bob's taking out the trash, so he doesn't realize anyone's behind him until he turns around.

"Fuck, Jesus," he says, and Jepha gives him a little smile.

Bob grins back.

"How was Japan?" Bob asks, once they get inside.

"Good. It was good. I had a chance to think about things." Jepha's fiddling with the stove, looking for Bob's tea pot. "Oh, hey, I brought you back some stuff."

He leaves and comes back with a plastic bag. It's full of candy, weird Japanese stuff.

"Awesome."

"There's one kind that was in that movie, _Spirited Away_ , you know?"

Bob digs through the bag while Jepha makes tea. There's a box of condoms in there, too. The box says Super Big Boy and there's a picture of a horse on it. Bob laughs. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Jepha's biting his lip and looking at the counter.

"Holy shit, you are trying to tell me something," Bob says.

Jepha shrugs and looks up. "Things change. And you can't stop that by wishing or pretending they don't, so."

"So?"

"So if we're going to ruin the band with sexual tension, I at least want blowjobs out of it." Jepha's voice is light, joking, but his hand is clenched so tight around the teaspoon that his knuckles are white.

Bob kisses him, and Jepha makes a soft, happy sound against his mouth, dropping the spoon to kiss him back. They both jump when the kettle starts screaming.

"Shit, is it supposed to do that?" Bob says.

Jepha gives a shaky laugh and turns off the stove. He doesn't pour the water.

Bob nudges the box of condoms. "I hate to say it, but I think you're going to be disappointed."

"Oh, no," Jepha says seriously. "Japanese men have smaller dicks. Those'll totally fit."

Jepha is happy to demonstrate.


End file.
